Descent of the Moblins
by Gordreg
Summary: The Moblin tribes are under threat, their lands shrinking with each passing year. A Chief begins a quest to save his people. But, to save them, will he have to forge an alliance with a Man who will soon be known as the Greatest villain in Hylian history?


The Fortress burned. A beacon upon the hilltop alight in crimson flame, the fires roared within its walls, licking upon the edges of the small collection of huts inside as it moved on, incinerating everything in pillars of heat and smoke. In the belly of the burning structure, left as a charnel house of severed limbs and crimson gore by those who had put it to the torch, the last few survivors huddled in a crude building, awaiting their doom. Their defences had failed them, their Brave warriors had been slaughtered, and now their home was being immolated. To remain here was death - but so to would be to leave, and face the ring of steel that surrounded them. At least this way they would go proud, defiant to the last, rather then have their bodies mutilated in death by their foes.  
  
The infant squealed, and the female picked it up, and held it tightly to her chest amidst the circle of panicking creatures. There was no way it would understand why it was going to die, or even that it was going to die at all, it was simply to young. But here, in the room where barely two days ago it had entered the world, it would this night leave it, along with the remains of what consisted of it's family. A tear welled up in the female's eyes as she thought of the doom that awaited her first, last and only offspring - and herself. The heat was rising now, the flicks of fire breaking through the crumbling ceiling and into the hut itself, the plumes of choking smoke boiling into her nostrils and . They had perhaps two minutes left - A single minute if they were lucky. The infant was still howling, clutched tightly to her breast, but now she ignored it's wails of fear and desperation, and lowered her head, her snout pointed towards the floor. A silent prayer to Din crossed her lips as she began to make her peace with the Trinity…  
  
A few seconds later, the timbers supporting the roof finally broke, charred and burned through by the raging flames, and the structure collapsed upon itself. Mercifully, the collapsing roof crushed all the beings inside instantly to death, before the flames could finish their grisly work…

* * *

Chargh was the first to smell the smoke. Faint whispers of grey, drifting like leaves upon the chill winter breezes. For many of the races throughout Hyrule, the whispers of scent would have been too faint, and ignored in favour of those stronger and closer. Even among his own kind the smell would have been hard to catch were it not so strong… but the aroma, even one from so far away, was overpowering in the cold winds of this new morning. His nostrils twitched as he took in another breath through his snout, the fragrance upon the winds particularly unpleasant. He stamped at the ground as he tried to analyse the scents, leaving hoof marks as he tried to keep his limbs warm through the act of motion. There was something deeply wrong in the air this morning, he could smell it...  
  
The scents spoke to him as he breathed them in, like a warning from the Goddesses themselves. They told a message of dread to his very heart, a message of fear, and of doom. The message was simple, but firm. The scent of Oakwood, mud and flesh burning in the distance told him that the line had been changed again - and his tribe were now on the edge of his people's land - a thought which sent shivers down his spine as he began to think of the consequences. He was Chieftain - but could he keep to his duty, and prevent this same fate enveloping his tribe?  
  
The first amongst his people he may have been, but Chargh was far from the only one whom caught the scent of doom upon the breeze, a fell wind that seemed to bring only the smell of death. As it wafted through the hill fort, a panic seized his people. Today, the winds did not offer the scents of ripening fruit to be collected, of wild honey sweet in the nostrils, of prey-beasts that could be hunted and killed. Today, the winds bore only the sickening stench of death from the north.  
  
There was an uproar. The tribe was panicking, the terrible omen of death wafting through the air unsettling and disturbing. Chargh, pacing into the centre of the fortress, shouted for calm, but the tribe was in little mood to listen. The boars were agitated, venting their unease with an increased level of aggression, Grunting and snorting at each other angrily. Chargh snarled at this stupidity - picking fights amongst their own kind would not help the Tribe. Again, he shouted for order, his loud voice straining to be heard above the shouts and insults the tribe were throwing at each other. But again, the tribe did not seem to be listening, continuing to grunt and snarl at each other. Chargh's frustration grew as he watched the first scuffle begin, a Large Boar finally snapping from the tension and whacking a smaller male with the back of his meaty fist.  
  
This infighting had to stop, and it had to stop now, before things got seriously out of hand. Flipping his hand around so that the sharp tip of his spear pointed towards, he strode through the bickering crowd towards the huge, ancient drum that rested near the gate. Built to sound the alarm if attackers came, it had long stood silent.  
  
Chargh drew back his spear, snarled, and bought the blunt end of his spear around towards the drum skin with one movement, the gnarled timber hitting the drum and producing a single, deep, loud thump, a pulse of sound which echoed throughout the fortress, catching the ear of every Moblin within. The Moblins stopped almost as one, and looked towards the Gate. There, their Chieftain stood, his muscles bulging as he held his Great spear aloft, his face furrowed with anger, his snout bearing a sneer of rage.  
  
"ALL YOU, STOP. This fighting not help, It only serve to loose honour. Wind blow from north, from Chumegh tribe Fortress. I go north, to see what happen to Chumegh. If any you brave enough to find out what happen with me, then grab your weapons and meet me by Gate. I leave in Ten minutes."  
  
Chargh turned, not waiting to hear any responses from his tribe. Now was not a time to let them question his judgement, or to allow them to put this off until the fires cooled and tracks were lost. He had to find what had happened to his tribe's ancient rivals, to prevent his fortress from meeting the same end as the one that had this day ceased to be… 


End file.
